“My child,” said Miss Plympton, “do you hear that? You shall not go. This man knows well what he can do. He understands all the worst injustice that can be done in the name of law. His whole life has been lived in the practice of all those iniquities that the law winks at. You see now at the outset what his purpose is. He will admit you, but not your friends. He wishes to get you alone in his power. And why does he not come himself? Why does he use such an agent as this?” Miss Plympton spoke rapidly, and in excited tones, but her excitement did not affect Edith in the slightest degree. “I think you are altogether too imaginative,” said she. “His orders are absurd. If I go through that gate, you shall go too. Come.” “Edith! Edith! I implore you, my darling,” cried Miss Plympton, “do not go. Come back. It will not be long to wait. Come to the village till to-morrow. Let us at least get the advice of a lawyer. The law can surely give an entrance to the rightful owner.” [Illustration: “HE DREW FROM HIS BREAST A LARGE CLASP-KNIFE.”] “But he doesn't deny an entrance to me,” said Edith, “and if I go, you shall come also. Come.” Miss Plympton hesitated. She saw that Edith was fully determined to go to Dalton Hall, and she could not bear to part with her. But at the same time she was so terrified at the thought of forcing a way in spite of the opposition of so formidable a villain as Wiggins that she shrank from it. Love at length triumphed over fear, and she followed Edith out of the coach, together with the maid. Meanwhile the porter had stood in deep perplexity watching this scene, but at length when Miss Plympton had reached the ground and prepared to follow Edith he put himself in front of them. “Beg pardon, miss,” said he, “but its agin orders for them others to go. It's on'y you that Mr. Wiggins 'll let in.” “Mr. Wiggins has nothing to say about the matter,” said Edith, coldly. “But I've got to obey orders,” said the man. “Will you please stand aside and let me pass?” said Edith. “I can't let them others in,” said the porter, doggedly. “You may go.” “John,” said Edith, quietly, “I'm sorry to trouble you, but you must watch this man; and, driver, do you stand at the gate and keep it open.” At this John flung down his hat upon the road, tore off his coat and tossed it after the hat, and, with a chuckle of something like exultation, prepared to obey his mistress by putting himself in a “scientific” attitude. He saw well enough that the porter was a formidable foe, and his face was a diploma in itself that fully testified to the skill and science of that foe; but John was plucky, and in his prime, and very confident in his own powers. So John stood off and prepared for the fray. On the other hand, the porter was by no means at a loss. As John prepared he backed slowly toward the gate, glaring like a wild beast at his assailant. But John was suddenly interrupted in his movements by the driver.